smaller.

if there were a choice i’d be scarred
and unpretty, you could
not hold it against me that i
wear mascara

we broke it off on the porch in
mid-august, over raccoon eyes, my
pigtails, that i’d been drinking beer
with my friends,
my oversized sweatshirt,
my lack of a bra

you smudge eyeliner off with the
back of your hand, play
finders keepers with
me even
now

i guess i am smaller than
you are in more ways than one

at a time.

they explode in the sky,
an orange haze burns
horizon for weeks.
i cross one leg over the
other, one shadows the other
on purpose when walking.
they saw it coming.

ahead of him we stop, watch
melting metal rain upon the fields.
twenty nine years from now
in your photo the colours will blend,
effortless, the horizon will slope.
he will not be
there.

in the distance my silhouette shifts its
weight to one leg, collapses an arm.
you cross a field, find the prints
of my boots in the snow.

the whiteness envelops the land.
our red sky inverts, fades into
night, one star explodes
at a time.

weather.

an attraction less halted,
more swept with the
streets by the salt trucks

he tells me it’s been
a long year, thinned like
the bottoms of socks we would
fold on his bed,
deflated like bellies
emptied for
summer, bites from
the bugs in the grass, or limp,
fallen like leaves, as far as
we have to the floor.

i say i forget.
don’t remember that bed,
or the weather

girls.

(contrary to boys.)

one thing follows another. there is you, and there is no you, and by the end there never was. you are less than memory. i spilled lies about being your friend. i am my ex-boyfriend’s friend, i am my ex-lover’s friend, i am my occasional casual fuck’s friend. i am not yours. you never existed. there is no you. they understand, and in the absence of you there is room for that type of comparison.

there is a space i allow myself to venture into once every two or three years, that i don’t actually belong in. i find my way through trickery, all deceit and lies. sometimes my own, sometimes not my own. it doesn’t matter. the space is always itself, it does not ask for more. i make no comparisons there. i gauge no reactions, i scan no bodies looking for a perfect place, a dream. i count no items. the space is welcoming and lets me believe i am safe there. the space collapses quickly once it begins. as these spaces tend to do. you were that space, and now you are not.

it is simple.
girls like me cannot breathe honestly there, they do not make logical sense there, they cease to exist inside. it is a good thing there are not many girls like me.

connection.

things i might e-mail, if i had a connection.

i lost my new sunglasses. it’s night time now so i don’t need them to see but i’ve been stumbling around on a mission, like a crazy person, to find them.

the lake is so calm even when the boats go through. i swam across to the other cottage, on the other side of the bay. we climbed the rocks holding roots of trees with our bare feet, and jumped with our fingers plugging our noses.

they’re beautiful, the kind of people whose energies are at constant risk of escaping. they smell like the lake and shampoo and they are kind to me; i have developed a new appreciation for that kind of thing.

i hate missing anything because it makes me feel like i’m giving a part of myself away. but i don’t mind this. i almost want it. things aren’t better when he is around but they’re not the same, not in a bad way.

i don’t belong here. i will find a way to tell you, without e-mail, with real words. i found my sunglasses in my backpack on the drive home. i used an inflatable turtle to make it across the lake. i don’t really care for the scent of shampoo. but i still don’t mind, or still don’t mind so much.